


The Hunger Songfic Challenge 1: Yayo

by BellaFuckingRockwell



Series: Bella's 10 Songfics for 10 Songs Challenge [1]
Category: David Bowie (Musician), The Hunger (TV 1997)
Genre: Begging, Consensual Sex, Daddy Kink, F/M, Light BDSM, Songfic, Songfic Challenge, Yayo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 17:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFuckingRockwell/pseuds/BellaFuckingRockwell
Summary: I've done an old exercise that used to rattle around the LiveJournal fic communities. The exercise is that you put your music library on shuffle and you write a fic in a certain fandom based on the first 10 songs that come up. They're usually meant to be drabbles, but I personally don't do drabbles bc I'm a verbose mf so they're just a bunch of short fics instead. My chosen fandom is The Hunger TV show and pairing throughout is Julian/Drew. They're loosely linked but aren't meant to be linear. I've also been pretty liberal with some of them in terms of how much they're actually based on the song!As it's The Hunger, the themes throughout are pretty fucking dark and potentially triggering in places. I'll post separate warnings for each one, but as a rule they're pretty much all NSFW for violence and/or smut (varying degrees of graphic). 18+ only, should go without saying.DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing. The characters and settings do not belong to me. I'm merely a little fish in a big pond trying to amuse myself. Good day Sir.Song 1: Lana del Rey – YayoSynopsis: Drew has mixed feelings about Julian's twisted games.





	The Hunger Songfic Challenge 1: Yayo

Soft, lulling jazz has its place in the bedroom, when its the backdrop to lovers kissing with wine-stained lips, caressing and whispering and seeking release together. Why Julian chooses it as the soundtrack to several hours of sexual torture, Drew cannot fathom. Whether its his idea of romance or merely a nonsensical ploy to fuck with her is anyone's guess.  
He likes minimalism, when he's in the mood. The little things; recognises their potency. She's naked, whilst he is not. She's unbound, but unable to move; must hold the position he's ordered her to, on her knees, keeled over, arms outstretched. Her only restraint is a blindfold, clamping her eyes shut. This might be the worst part. Julian is a man you need to be careful around, even when you can see him. When you can't? Well, the fear is all part of the fun... isn't it?  
It's not just the disorientation, either; it's the magnifying, the sharpening, of every little touch. The burning path down her back left by his fingernails, the graze of knuckles against her swollen, aching clit, throbbing from hours of being teased to the edge by things that buzz and pulsate and his own cruel fingers. Just as she's so close, every whining cry of “please, Daddy, let me cum”, makes him cease, leaving her flushed and gasping and on the verge of tears. She hates it, the shame of being made to beg and then being denied, but she's loathe to give Julian the satisfaction of cracking up completely. So she plays along, silently cursing him, furious and delighted with her predicament all at once; picturing his smirking, his hardness visible beneath his clothing, his incredible self-restraint...  
But it's waning. She can hear it in his breaths, the way they deepen, hungrier with every inhale. His hand comes down onto her head, ruffling her hair, damp with sweat. It's a tender gesture, but Julian, surprisingly, likes those. Drew does too, if only for the brief comfort, the unspoken promise that she's safe. Still, she's careful to stay on guard, not to nuzzle into his gentle touch too much. You can never entirely read Julian, predict him, in these moments as with any others. It's not a good idea to get too comfortable. The jazz continues in the background, some sultry chanteuse warbling about bad men and wild nights. Whatever, bitch. You have no idea.  
She's not surprised when his affection is short-lived. Julian pushes her face into the mattress, in that dismissive way he knows humiliates her, makes her feel like a toy. “Spread your legs wider.”  
She does, whimpering at the ache between her legs; yet, hardly daring to hope that she can hear Julian's zipper. That she might be about to get something she wants. Finally...  
“There's my good girl.” His tone is mocking, but isn't it always? “Doing exactly as she's told...”  
Drew whimpers in anticipation as she feels the bed dip behind her, hears it creak; bites her lip as Julian's hands brush her hips. Of course, nothing happens. He's waiting for something. And she knows, all too well, what he requires.  
Her cheeks burn scarlet, her voice a husk: “please...”  
Julian laughs, low in his throat, and Drew wants her dark little world to swallow her whole. “Please what?”  
She hesitates, then gives a needy cry as the head of his cock brushes her entrance. It's so hard to plead. It would be one thing to demand, to insist that he has to take her right now, let her slip away mentally from this dark fucking penitentiary, just for a few minutes... but she mustn't, or she'll be denied. And if she's denied, she thinks she might just die.  
“Please, Daddy.” Her words ripple, crack. “Fuck me.”  
He sighs; longing, lustful. “You do put on such a lovely show, girl.”  
More shifting. Another exquisite brush on slick, swollen skin. Drew mewls, readying herself.  
“But...” The bed shifts beneath her, again; her heart sinks. Julian's drawing back. He's fucking moving away. “I don't think you want it enough yet.”  
Drew doesn't mean to growl like a feverish lion, to buck her hips at him like a possessed stripper; not because she feels compelled to show him she can behave, but because acts like these will delay things, and her plight is becoming unbearable. Besides, such displays will have consequences; she braces herself, waiting for a slap to her behind that knocks the breath from her lungs, or a quietly delivered threat that will torment her for days.  
Luckily – perhaps – Julian just seems to find her incredibly amusing. His low chuckle pierces her, despite the relief it brings. She hears his footsteps, quiet against the carpeted floor of their bedroom. The woman on the stereo sings on and on, something about marrying a dreadful man who rides a motorcycle; oblivious to her suffering, as Julian positions himself in front of her. Drew digs her hands into the sheets, trying to fight back her wanton moan as he trails the wet tip of his cock across her lips.  
“You shouldn't have done that, love,” he taunts, and she can hear the sadistic glee in his voice, feel a demanding hand on her jaw as he guides himself into her mouth. “Now you're really going to have to work for it.”


End file.
